


Working Out The Kinks

by cydonic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, DIY Sex Toys, Dom/sub Undertones, Drooling, Gags, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Semi-Public Sex, Top Steve Rogers, Verbal Humiliation, Workplace Sex, pre-negotiated scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: Steve Rogers is a physiotherapist, and the irresistible Bucky Barnes is his last appointment of the day.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 36
Kudos: 505





	Working Out The Kinks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here is a random smutty idea that came to me and demanded to be written.
> 
> Please read the tags - this is a pre-negotiated scene! I am putting this warning in simply because there are parts that would not be appropriate if consent was not previously (off-screen) discussed. 
> 
> I have done my research and a lacrosse ball, with a diameter of 63mm, is on par with what I discovered on Etsy is a super-large ball gag. Let’s just say Bucky’s had practise. 👀 This does not mean, however, that DIY gags (or any DIY sex toy) are always a safe and appropriate alternative. This fic should be read more as a fun fantasy and less of a how-to guide (seriously, don't take advice from me, I don't know anything). 
> 
> Thank you to [Jen](https://twitter.com/jenofthemoon) for the super quick beta! 
> 
> I love hearing what you think in the comments and on my twitter, [_cydonic](https://twitter.com/_cydonic), so please let me know. 😊

Steve takes a moment to clean off the treatment table, laying out a new, clean cotton sheet for the next appointment on his list. Luckily for him, the next person he’s seeing is his last booking for the day. All he needs to do is coax his tired hands, sore from a long week of muscle work, through one more session, and then he’s free.

Depending on how you look at it, Steve might be lucky or unlucky for who his last appointment is. He brings the patient file up on his tablet and leaves his tiny workspace, cordoned off from others by a curtain, to head into the waiting room.

And there he is.

“Mr Barnes?” Steve asks, despite his eyes zoning in on the man immediately. Even if he wasn’t Steve’s patient, even if Steve hadn’t known him before, even if he was a complete stranger, he suspects his eyes would’ve done the same thing.

The way his hair, like flowing water, refuses to be held in place by any form of hair tie or pin, and caresses his neck on the way down. The way a smile lights up his face as soon as he spots Steve, eyes not-so-subtly taking him all in.

By now he must look like something of a mess - the wax he styled into his hair before work drooping, body curved just a little with tiredness.

But still, the eyes on him are hungry.

“How are you, Bucky?” Steve asks, as the pair of them walk the well-known path back to Steve’s little part of the building, a poorly-divided room within a room.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “Been better,” he says, as he sits on the edge of the treatment table. He’s done this routine before, plenty of times.

“Let’s check it out, then,” Steve says, trying not to let his hands linger as he guides Bucky’s body to turn certain ways, testing the limitations of his movements. If Steve lets himself touch a little longer than strictly necessary, well - that’s just him being a professional, ensuring his patient is receiving the best possible care.

That’s all.

“I think a bit of release will help.” There’s an innuendo there that Steve is very much making and, if the way a rosy blush coats Bucky’s cheeks is any indication, he got it. “You know the drill. Clothes off, lie face down on the table, and cover yourself with this towel.”

It’s not the drill, not exactly, but Bucky doesn’t protest and Steve doesn’t loiter. That would be unprofessional.

He steps out of the tiny curtained room, into the main walkway. They’re surrounded by other practitioners, a thin sheet of fabric the only thing separating Steve from Bucky. And then, when Steve returns to the small not-quite-a-room, it will be the only thing separating the two of them from everyone else.

“I’m ready,” Bucky announces from within the curtain, and Steve slips back inside - mindful to keep the sight from prying eyes, for Bucky’s privacy, to keep the moment special between them.

Bucky is already laying face down on the table - he knows the drill - his face in the small, contoured gap that allows him to breathe as Steve works on him. The towel is pulled haphazardly over his lower-half, and all Steve can see is skin, skin, skin.

This isn’t _the drill_ , because Steve doesn’t ask everyone who visits him to strip. Sure, he’ll ask them to take their shirt or their pants off to work on a specific area, but he never asks someone to take it _all_ off.

Steve clears his throat and approaches the table. He neatens up the towel, so that it’s covering Bucky’s ass. It sticks up and out, the well-trained, firm muscle holding proud. Steve wants to grab it, squeeze it, _bite it_ \- do _so much_ to it.

But that’s not why Bucky’s here.

Steve bends down to squirt some lotion into his hands and rubs it together as he keeps his foot on the pedal to raise the table. When Bucky is at an appropriate height he steps off, and the movement halts.

There’s a towel between his hands - slippery, _ready_ \- and Bucky’s ass.

So Steve starts at his neck. He knows how to work around the prosthetic, has been doing so for years. He knows where Bucky carries his tension, and where the knots and kinks form. He wastes no time digging his thumb into one of Bucky’s usual places, and is rewarded with a surprised groan of pleasure.

That’s not unusual, either. Not just with Bucky - lots of people. A massage is such an incredibly intimate gesture, someone taking care of you with their hands, finding the magic spot that takes the pain away. Lots of people groan. Steve’s used to waving it off with good humour, letting the patient know that they’re fine, they haven’t upset him.

“Quiet,” Steve hisses instead, mindful of Sam’s voice carrying into their space through the curtain wall they share.

Bucky’s ears glow red, and Steve continues. He plays Bucky like an instrument, his fingers finding the strings and keys to make Bucky sing. Steve admonishes him every time, even pinching the skin of his side as a punishment. And when Bucky squeals at that, well, Steve’s unable to ignore the fact that he’s rock hard just from _listening_ to the man.

Steve steps back and removes his hands from Bucky, glaring thoughtfully at his workspace. There must be something he could use to quieten Bucky - he doesn’t want anyone around them to get the wrong idea, of course. It’s not like Steve is doing anything wrong. He’s giving Bucky what he needs, release from the constricting pain in his back and neck. There’s no use giving anyone cause for concern.

One by one, Steve’s eyes alight on the objects that sit on the small trolley he works from. A lot of it is for teaching patients their exercises, or relieving the pain long term, foam rollers and strapping tape, braces and massage balls.

Massage balls.

Steve rubs the excess lotion off on his trousers and picks one up, turning it this way and that. It’s small and dense - they use lacrosse balls, just for the fact that they stand up to pressure without softening. He collects that, and a resistance band, weighing both up for a moment.

It seems he’s been gone long enough for Bucky to notice, and he’s propped himself up on his elbows. Steve takes in his blushed face, eyes half-closed as most peoples’ are when they emerge from the bliss of a massage. His hair is sticking to his forehead - just an unfortunate side effect of being face down on a treatment table - and Steve envisions it sweated in place from Bucky pressed face-first into a pillow.

Bucky makes a small noise of question. The towel slides down his lower back until it’s covering only the swell of his ass, no more. Steve can imagine how his hands would feel on the flesh of his lower-back, the way goosebumps would rise there from his delicate touch, so unlike the knowing, firm hands of a therapist.

“You can’t be quiet,” Steve says, mindful of keeping his own voice low enough that they aren’t overheard. “So I’m going to help you. Open up.”

Bucky offers him an indignant glare, but the way his cheeks flush an even brighter red - God, he’ll be the death of Steve - suggest he’s more than okay with it. His lips part, so plush, ripe for kissing and wrapping around Steve’s painfully hard cock. Instead of sliding himself in there, Steve gives Bucky the ball, pressing it in to force his jaw open wider. It settles, holding Bucky’s mouth open uncomfortably wide. Already, drool forms at the edges of it, glossing up Bucky’s lips.

Steve takes the resistance band and uses it to tie the ball in place, ensuring that the elastic is not too tight as to harm Bucky. It’s not the best gag going - a DIY job won’t ever hold up to the real thing - but Bucky’s eyes are so dilated it's impossible to tell whether there’s anything but _black_ to his iris. That, in itself, is a glowing testimony.

Bucky makes a sound, a muffled, held-back sort of groan, and though it isn’t much quieter than before, Steve thinks he likes this look better.

“Down you go,” Steve says gently, placing a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck and coaxing him to resume his previous position. It takes Bucky some maneuvering, but eventually he manages to get his filled mouth through the face-shaped hole in the table. Bucky exhales sharply through his nose, a kind of sigh, and Steve gets back to it.

As Steve works lower and lower, Bucky’s distorted moans grow in frequency, though the volume stays at a more appropriate level. Then, something else becomes clear: Bucky is moving his hips minutely against the surface of the table, ass shifting as he seeks out friction.

Steve didn’t need this. He didn’t need this image of Bucky, unable to stop himself from rutting against the cotton-covered table, in his mind. Steve was already hard just from seeing Bucky - fully-clothed out there in the lobby, stray hairs escaping his bun. From there it’s just gotten worse and worse - or better and better, Steve supposes. He’s not going to be able to contain himself much longer.

Steve watches Bucky, letting him maintain that slow, subtle grind against the table as Steve works on a tight muscle in his lower back. Bucky’s breaths are coming in little huffs now, audible to Steve and Steve alone.

Carefully, Steve’s hands move from the bare skin of Bucky’s lower back to cup the towel-covered curve of his ass. He lets his hands settle there with enough weight to be obvious, and Bucky’s hips jerk up into Steve’s grip. With a smirk, Steve start to massage Bucky, squeezing and manipulating the pert flesh.

Steve leans down to purr in Bucky’s ear, “is this where you want me?”

Bucky makes noises, indecipherable as words in the English language, but their meaning is clear: _yes_.

For a few moments, Steve indulges Bucky. He uses enough pressure to push Bucky’s hips down into the table, playing into the momentum he’d set for himself. It’s a testament to Steve’s self-control that he manages even those minutes before sliding one hand beneath the towel, stroking two fingers up the crease of Bucky’s ass, and then -

It’s not what he expects. What Steve has imagined, in his fantasy, is Bucky - tight and wanting. What he gets is this: the flared silicone end of a butt plug, nestled in place as if it's always been there.

Steve captures that end of the toy and gives a slight tug, not enough to remove it, just to be felt. Bucky whines pathetically, and Steve leans down again to his ear, not letting anyone else have the satisfaction of eavesdropping on them like this.

“You got ready, did you?” Steve asks, working the plug slowly in and out of Bucky’s ass, listening to him whimper. “You assumed I’d want you like this?” It’s meant to come across as degrading, but Steve can’t smother the helpless want in his voice. Of course he wants Bucky like this - Steve wants Bucky in every way, shape, or form he can get him.

Steve releases the toy and uses the same hand to grasp the back of Bucky’s head and lift it up. The sounds he’s making are so sweet - these soft, little cries -, but Steve wants to see him.

It’s better than any fantasy Steve’s mind could’ve come up with. Tears leak from the corners of Bucky’s eyes, curving down his cheek to join the drool escaping his mouth. Bucky’s cheeks and ears are pink - he’s flushed, in fact, all the way down his body, a beautiful, humiliated red. Steve wonders what he thinks of himself, so turned on by being used like this in a place where anyone could hear, anyone could walk in.

“I’ll give it to you,” Steve says, his other hand wiping some of the mess from Bucky’s face. “And when I’m done, I’ll plug you back up so you can go home full of my cum. You’ll have to walk out of here, past all the people I work with, a debauched little slut. That’s what you wanted, was it?”

And Bucky nods, sniffling pathetically.

Steve releases his head, and Bucky nestles back into the safety of the cut-out, saving as much face as he can. Steve leans back to glance at the floor beneath that spot, and he notices the patch of wetness on the dark blue carpet.

“Before I begin,” Steve says, as he undoes his belt and fly but nothing else, pulling his cock free. “You’re gonna have to get me wet.”

Steve places his foot on the controls for the bed, lifting it up higher again, so high that he can push his hips into the space where Bucky’s face is and let him drool all over his cock like a starving man. “You can do it,” Steve coaxes, and he feels whatever bodily fluid it is - spit or tears or snot - on his cock with a jolt. It’s the first contact he’s had since seeing Bucky, and he so badly wants more.

Steve reaches for Bucky’s hand and pulls it forward. Bucky goes willingly, boneless with want - boneless except for one, the one still grinding incessantly into the table. Steve forms Bucky’s hand into a loose fist, and wraps it around his cock. “Make sure I’m wet,” Steve demands, and he can hear how ruined his voice is just from this touch.

Bucky’s hand starts slowly, working up near the head where he can take advantage of the leaking precum to aid in lubrication. It doesn’t take long for Steve to be on the border of cumming, and it’s that loss of control more than readiness that has him pulling away.

“That’s enough,” Steve says, shutting down Bucky’s cry and the desperate grab of his hand by stepping away.

He steps back to admire the scene, the body laid out before him - unrestrained, except by his own desire. Steve lowers the table now, until Bucky’s at the perfect height for him to slide right in. It would be ridiculous to suggest that Steve has never thought of this, of fucking someone on this table, height-adjustable and comfortable and perfect for it. The reality, though, is on an entirely new level.

With no forewarning or particular care, Steve grabs Bucky’s ankles - one per hand - and yanks his body down. It must give him such a mind-boggling mix of pleasure and pain to have his dick rubbed along the cotton sheet with no mercy. Steve relishes in the cry from Bucky, loud enough now that he may be overheard. He longs to punish Bucky properly, to smack that firm ass, but he refrains. Instead, Steve fists his hand in Bucky’s hair and pulls it up sharply, curving his back.

“Quiet, or I’ll send you out of here hard and desperate,” Steve snaps, and Bucky nods as much as he can with his neck forced back.

It’s not for Bucky’s sake that Steve pulls the plug out of his ass in one swift movement, it’s for his own. He’s so horny he can’t handle it - Bucky’s ass is barely free before Steve is plugging the hole, sliding all the way into the wet warmth of him.

Then, for just a second, Steve allows himself to forget himself. A shudder ripples through his entire body. It feels like he’s finally found his way home. His spine tingles with a sensation indescribably _right_.

And then, a voice - not Bucky’s, nor Steve’s.

“Steve?” Sam Wilson asks, and Steve freezes.

He’s got his last patient of the day bent over the treatment table like it’s a brothel, cock covered in his spit - as to is a massage ball that is definitely _company property_.

“Kinda busy,” Steve says, and hopes it comes across as natural and not strained. He’s holding himself back from fucking the most beautiful man he’s ever seen - it’s a challenge trying to work any semblance of composure into his tone.

“You are?” It’s common courtesy in their workplace not to enter through a closed curtain, and Steve hopes against hope that their friendship doesn’t convince Sam to forget that important rule. “Your book’s empty. Mrs Diaz was your last for the day.”

Steve’s hips twitch against his will, and he watches a string of drool hang from Bucky’s bottom lip. Fuck. “Bucky’s a last minute appointment.”

The curtain parts and Steve feels his cock twitch. It should be a moment where he softens at the fear and embarrassment, but no, his body can’t get enough of this. Sam’s hand appears in a little wave, and then disappears. “Right, well, I’m getting out of here, man. I’ll see you on Monday.”

And that’s it.

Steve is frozen - as frozen as he can be when his cock has suddenly invented a mind of its own and is desperate to be further inside Bucky. Bucky whimpers, face bright red and hips inching back onto Steve’s, as eager to be fucked as Steve is to fuck.

Sam’s the last person in Steve’s part of the building, but that doesn’t mean they can suddenly be as loud as they want. It’s after half-five already, Steve realises with a glance up at the clock, which means the cleaning staff will be starting their shift any minute now.

He has to get this done, or risk getting caught.

Steve digs his fingers into the table and fucks Bucky in earnest. It’s not the slow grind of making love, but a frenzied drive to one destination alone: orgasm. Steve doesn’t care about Bucky’s own cock, untouched and rubbing against the table, because it will either resolve itself or it won’t. Part of Steve longs to see Bucky leaving the building with his own embarrassing hardness in front, Steve’s seed sliding down the back of his legs.

Sam’s appearance jumped Steve’s heartrate up, and it hasn’t gotten a break since. He fucks Bucky so hard that he can see spit fly from the other man’s mouth, so hard that their hips are slapping together, and he can’t bring himself to slow down and quieten it.

Bucky is impossible to resist, and Steve isn’t even going to try.

He’s reaching the point of no return when Bucky suddenly shudders around him, and Steve watches him squirt cum all over the table, soaking into the cotton. There hasn’t been a hand on him this whole time, and Bucky’s such a whore for being used that he gets off on that alone. 

The thing that gets Steve is this: the way Bucky hangs his head and sobs; the way sweat beads on his pink-flushed skin; the way his cock twitches against the table, eager to offer something despite Steve milking it dry. It topples him like an empire, and he cums with a rush of sound in his own ears that he doesn’t know if he vocalised or not.

Steve allows them no reprieve. They’ve got to get out of there as quickly as possible, and as much as he wants to nuzzle into Bucky’s neck, he can’t afford the time. He grabs the plug which had, thankfully, not fallen off the table during their tryst. Steve pulls himself out and then slides the toy right back into Bucky’s body, keeping him as full as possible. He gives the toy a few experimental jerks, just to watch the way some of his cum leaks out around it, Bucky’s hole fucked open wider than the toy. That was him. That was Steve and his cock, leaving Bucky well-fucked and full.

Working methodically, Steve pats them both down with the towel. It’s much the same as the way he would clean the excess lotion off a patient before allowing them to get dressed. He cleans Bucky and collects his clothes from a chair in the corner, placing them on the bed. Steve tidies himself up, too, tucking himself back into his pants and fastening everything so he appears untouched.

The last thing Steve does, as Bucky blinks owlishly down at his clothing - foreign objects that don’t compute in his lust-addled brain -, is undo the gag. It leaves Bucky’s mouth bright red and wet, and Steve leans in to kiss him.

“What would your husband think of you, getting fucked by your physiotherapist like this?” Steve asks against his swollen lips.

Bucky manages to make a sound that might have been a laugh, had he the ability to form such a cohesive expression. “You should ask him,” Bucky answers, softly, knowing, finally picking up his underwear and tugging them on.

Steve admires the way Bucky redresses, trying to squeeze his cheeks together in a valiant attempt to keep Steve’s cum from escaping. Bucky’s body moves slowly, as if through a viscous syrup and not air like the rest of the world. Steve wants to push him back down and start round two, then three and four and onwards, but he can hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner starting in the other treatment room and has to refrain.

When Bucky is finally redressed, Steve steps in. He straightens Bucky’s shirt and fixes his hair. As far as Steve is concerned, Bucky looks as if he’s just been fucked, but so long as no one else notices they’re fine.

Bucky sighs under the attention, eyes closed, a cat preening in the warm sunlight. Then he blinks back to the world, looking at Steve with a sated smile. “You didn’t even give me a proper massage.”

“I will when we get home, baby,” Steve assures Bucky, as he picks up his bag and tidies up his station.

Typically, the linens would get washed by the cleaning staff, but Steve doesn’t want to do that to them. He opens his bag and pulls out one of the calico shopping bags that Bucky insists he carries everywhere. Into it, Steve folds up the cotton sheet, the towel, the massage ball, and the resistance band. It’s almost like cleaning up a crime scene.

“You’re driving home, too,” Bucky says, drifting into Steve’s side and pressing the keys into his palm.

Steve just smiles and wraps an arm around Bucky’s body, tucking him in. “Whatever you need.” And he means it.


End file.
